Rong Hong offered her a salary of six silver dollars per hundred jin of tea processing fee, plus a base salary of five dollars per month.

The last batch of four thousand jin of tea was a test run. Rong Hong gave her two hundred and twenty dollars. She worked for a month and a half, splitting every penny in half, getting into countless arguments with Shopkeeper Mao and the neighborhood aunties. In the end, after settling accounts, she had eight dollars and fifty cents left.

Lin Yuchan calculated that at this rate and profit margin, she could still earn about eight silver dollars per month.

This was quite generous compensation in the employment market of that time, especially for a newcomer like her who lacked experience. A new apprentice at Xuhui Tea Shop only earned two or three silver dollars per month.

Adding the gender factor, this could beat 99% of Shanghai women.

(The remaining one percent were born with golden spoons in their mouths—no comparison there.)

But after thinking it over, she felt she could be more aggressive and proposed: “I don’t want the base salary. Like last time, can we do a sales commission split?”

Tea could be either a necessity or a luxury item. Exquisitely packaged, finely crafted premium export tea could sometimes yield enormous profit margins, earning premiums based on brand and reputation.

After all, there was no unified standard for tea quality—it could even be called mystical. The rough street tea at three li per cup in “Three Li Hall” versus the premium tea at three fen per cup in “Three Fen Pavilion”—an ordinary person might be able to tell the difference in quality, but certainly not a tenfold difference. As for the luxury teas costing five fen or two jiao, many people couldn’t taste which was better.

So many amateur newcomers judged tea quality mainly by packaging and price.

Like the “Boya” brand tea that had just made a name for itself among the foreign community in the concession, it used fashionable tin cans with painted decorations, and being associated with charity, it immediately positioned itself in the high-end market. Even if the price doubled, Lin Yuchan was confident there would still be suckers willing to pay cheerfully.

But tea processing was paid by piece—no room for imagination.

Lin Yuchan carefully chose her words and smiled: “This time you have more tea, and the quality will vary more widely. The finished tea I process will also be graded with different selling prices… Of course, the costs won’t differ that much, but… You understand…”

Rong Hong listened to her eloquent speech and couldn’t help laughing, reaching into his hat to scratch his hair.

The girl spoke very politely, but her meaning was obvious: If you give me a fixed salary, I’ll just work by the rules and take my pay; but if it’s tied to sales revenue, then I’ll be more motivated and turn all your tea into master-level premium tea in small cans, specifically to fleece the foreigners.

Lin Yuchan hurriedly explained: “This way we both win—you’ll earn more too!”

She temporarily kept quiet about Su Minguan’s plan to raise shipping costs, not telling Rong Hong for now. After all, tea processing had market rates, and even if shipping costs doubled, Rong Hong wouldn’t lose money.

Rong Hong kept shaking his head and laughing, which made her nervous, wondering if she was being too presumptuous…

“Miss Lin, you’re interesting. I’ve hired about ten employees before and after, and none of them talked to me about wages like this.”

Rong Hong dipped his steel pen in ink and cheerfully modified the terms.

Lin Yuchan suddenly remembered something and asked: “Mr. Rong, how long do you plan to operate this tea procurement line?”

Rong Hong had a monopolistic advantage in this business—three-nation passport, unmatched by anyone. If others wanted to imitate, their costs and risks would be at least double his.

Rong Hong smiled: “Of course, as long as possible. I won’t hide it from you—this trip went much more smoothly than I expected. Excluding the luck factor, it must be that the warfare has somewhat subsided…”

Lin Yuchan quickly shook her head: “No, no, no, it should just be luck.”

Rong Hong had thought that carrying ten thousand taels of heavy silver, he would face daily threats like the monk Xuanzang on his journey to the West, encountering demons and monsters coveting and attacking him every day, overcoming eighty-one trials.

Who knew the round trip would be surprisingly peaceful, not even encountering a single thief—safer than last time.

Rong Hong thanked God daily, but he didn’t know that after the Yixing fleet hoisted the copper coin flag, openly yet secretly revealing their identity, all Heaven and Earth Society members along the canal route—active ones, former ones, those serving in enemy camps but loyal at heart, those who had switched sides and become unemployed, those who had left the organization but were too embarrassed to return—had all received orders to do everything possible to ensure the fleet’s safety.

How could it not go smoothly?

Unfortunately, she couldn’t explain this in detail.

Rong Hong, having his enthusiasm dampened, smiled embarrassedly and changed to a more cautious statement.

“Then… until local tea farmers no longer need to sell their tea at low prices.”

Lin Yuchan nodded and quietly added: “Or until your Taiping Heavenly Kingdom passport expires.”

Rong Hong froze, his expression somewhat obscure.

“That… that’s natural. I know what I’m doing.”

Her hint was sufficient. With a scholar’s intelligence, she didn’t need to say more.

And she knew even better—this tea processing contract would last at most until summer 1864.

Rong Hong signed the contract, lit a cigar, and said: “I’m not quite accustomed to the local climate after going deep inland this time, so I need a few days to recover. The tea in the warehouse also needs to be repackaged. Come to work next Monday.”

Lin Yuchan nodded and took the steel pen to sign her name on the contract.

“During this time, I can have another talk with Xuhui Tea Shop,” she said. “For large orders, we should be able to negotiate a better price. You rest well and leave these matters to me.”

Rong Hong smiled: “Don’t overwork yourself.”

After speaking, he opened a drawer, counted out ten silver dollars, and pushed them to her.

“Signing bonus—this is an American custom, every employee gets one—please sign a receipt, Miss Lin.”

Lin Yuchan left the small Western-style building, running lightly.

Finally, a relatively long-term job!

Although she was still employed by someone else, this money was earned standing up! Standing upright and properly!

Actually, in the Qing Dynasty, most people lived by one skill for life. Those without skills sold their strength, all hoping for a long-term employer, preferably one who would take care of them for life, called an “iron rice bowl.”

Lin Yuchan had thought this way at first, too. Initially, she even felt that starting as a small apprentice at Defeng Trading House, studying the way of tea, slowly saving money to advance, even if her status was always inferior to others, she could at least scrape by.

Only later, when the stormy waves crashed down and swept her into a new world she had never reached, did she gradually realize how naive such thinking was for a girl without background or status.

To survive in the Qing Dynasty—especially now that she had raised her standards for herself and wanted to survive comfortably and with dignity—she couldn’t pin her hopes on any specific person or industry.

Money and status were what should be grasped firmly. As for how to earn this money, whether it meant changing locations frequently, that didn’t matter.

Think of young master Su Minguan—he changed careers at will, and now, when he talked about ships, he was more professional than with tea.

With ten silver dollars of a signing bonus in her pocket, she thought she should reward herself this time.

Find a commercial street and spend lavishly.

…Well, never mind.

Scared poor.

She stingily thought: keep nine, spend one—about right.

But… what did she want to buy?

She stopped on Nanjing Road and looked around. Towering Western buildings lined both sides of the street, flashy signs reached toward the sky, shop windows displayed dazzling arrays of goods, and there were even billiard and bowling halls exclusively for foreigners. Melodious orchestra music drifted from the International Club.

Fashionable Chinese men and women crowded shoulder to shoulder, wearing foreign watches, carrying foreign umbrellas, smoking foreign cigarettes, and walking gracefully.

Half the places she couldn’t enter, the other half didn’t interest her.

Those newfangled imported foreign goods—wool cloth, soap, music boxes, glass cups—to her were all outdated products from history’s garbage heap, with no interest in using them to adorn herself.

More luxurious items, beautiful as they were, represented countless poor people’s painful sweat and blood behind them, reminding her of that filthy, dark coolie barracks, killing any interest in approaching them.

Standing amid the bustling traffic, Lin Yuchan couldn’t help but smile bitterly. In a few more years, she’d probably be desireless and find a nunnery to become a nun.

Suddenly, there was commotion nearby. The police were busily and dutifully driving ragged beggars into side alleys, lest they pollute the clean respectability of this ten-li foreign settlement.

“Get lost! Die and get out!”

The police waved their foreign rifles threateningly, kicked the beggars’ ribs with their big leather boots, and struck their heads with rifle butts.

Passersby were used to such sights.

Lin Yuchan stared at the police for a long time.

Probably because her clothing was neat and her expression composed, though without luxurious decorations, she naturally carried the aura of a young lady from a good family. After acting fierce for a while, the police noticed they were being stared at by a well-dressed young woman and found it boring. They sneered and gave the beggar one last kick before shouldering their rifles and walking away.

As if someone had flashed a lamp before her eyes, she suddenly knew what she wanted.

Lin Yuchan tossed a few copper coins to the beggar, quickened her pace to leave Nanjing Road, and headed straight for the Suzhou River.

The sign for “Yixing Shipping Company” modestly mixed among a group of shop signs, with a fresh plaque hanging on the wall below reading “Guangdong-Guangxi Hometown Association.”

Before she could enter, an employee inside had already spotted her and immediately smiled obsequiously.

“Miss Lin, our boss is at the dock handling business. We’ll go call him right away…”

“No need.” Lin Yuchan smiled and waved her hand. “Please tell Boss Su that… well, I’m here to exercise my shareholder rights.”

The employee, not understanding, repeated her message twice and went inside.

Moments later, the employee pushed open the door and bowed to her.

“The boss says to allow him some preparation time. Day after tomorrow at the Yin hour, meet at the dock.”

“This should be about right.”

Su Minguan climbed the mast, did a one-handed pull-up, quickly untied the sail ropes in no time, then jumped steadily onto the deck.

His landing was precisely placed, perfectly balanced. The small boat only swayed twice, and even the broom propped against the cabin didn’t fall over.

He threw out a rope and tied the boat to a wooden post in the reed marsh.

Dawn was just breaking, pale moonlight spreading across the river surface, with a cool breeze sweeping over the water.

“Come ashore.”

Lin Yuchan watched with amusement, resting her chin on her hand appreciatively.

Following the sailors deep into the grassroots, learning humbly without shame, he could soon sail a single-mast boat with flair. Unlike many local shipping company bosses who only knew how to drink, socialize, keep accounts, and negotiate prices, themselves landlubbers who had never even gotten their shoes wet.

However, Lin Yuchan had seen others operate this type of boat. The final two steps were always done by climbing up properly, not showing off like him. Even doing pull-ups.

She didn’t expose him, just clapped and praised his steadiness.

She asked: “Where is this?”

After leaving the mouth of the Suzhou River, she didn’t recognize the area. The river surface was vast and white, water and sky merging into one, broad and desolate.

“Wusong mouth,” Su Minguan answered. “Locals told me there used to be a fort here, blown up by the British twenty years ago, and it’s been ruins ever since—ah, that should be it.”

Lin Yuchan suddenly looked up and whispered: “The Battle of Wusong.”

During the First Opium War—the year Su Minguan was born—British forces captured Guangzhou and pushed north with devastating force, crushing the Qing army at Wusong mouth, where the Jiangnan Admiral died for his country. Afterwards, warships sailed straight up the Yangtze River toward Nanjing.

A few words from history books, crumbled to ash, magnified into a vivid picture before one’s eyes.

The mudflats grew thick with reeds, and white, long-winged water birds nested among them, their calls long and mournful.

A pile of broken bricks and stones loomed faintly in the reeds, the only man-made trace in this wild area.

Now that the nation’s gates had been blasted open and Shanghai welcomed the powers with open arms, military defense was no longer needed. This mudflat naturally fell into abandonment, with no one settling here.

It was indeed a good place for target practice and gun training.

Both the Banner Army barracks and foreign military camps had shooting ranges, but those weren’t places ordinary people could access. Shanghai’s prosperity radiated to the countryside, but if one rashly practiced in some rural water town, aside from possibly hitting a villager’s water buffalo or ducks, that sound would immediately bring enthusiastic masses rushing to report to authorities.

Lin Yuchan thought it was fortunate he found such a place.